Don't Drink the Water
by scrub456
Summary: Before he could become the notorious space criminal Star Lord, fourteen year old Peter Quill has to learn to be a thief. He meets a girl who could be the perfect partner in crime, if only she weren't set on killing him. And everyone else for that matter. *An alternate first meeting, enemies to friends story*
1. Dummy Says What

*Author's Note*

For those of you who follow me because of my Sherlock fic, please know, I am not abandoning the fandom. I simply got stuck while working on a few other pieces (all Sherlock related), and just needed to try something new. So, after a few free writing sessions, this is what we've got. *bites nails*

I have been a Marvel fan from my earliest childhood memories. I've just never been brave enough to try writing fic. But, with the impending doom of Infinity War looming, and the encouragement of notjustmom, I thought I'd try my hand at it. Though I'm a Marvel fan, my first foray into the world of Guardians of the Galaxy was with the films, and I have no prior experience with the comics or graphic novels. So, what you read here is based on my take of the characters from film, and a very flimsy hunt and search for minor details (some of which I will share in future author notes). I don't know much about character backgrounds, so this story is really just for fun. I'm sorry if it's woefully inaccurate, for those of you who truly know your stuff.

* * *

"What d'you think you're doin', boy?"

A sharp smack to the back of the head and Peter found himself gripping the controls, braced for a fight. "I'm docking _my_ ship so I can go do _my_ mission. _Asshole._ "

"What was that?" Another smack to the back of the head. Kraglin stepped into his space and snarled, "Speak up, boy."

Peter ducked another smack and gritted his teeth. "I _said,_ I'm docking _my_ ship so I can go do _my_ mission." He glanced up and over his shoulder at Yondu's first mate and dictator-by-proxy, and smirked. "Then I called you _asshole,_ asshole." He jerked the controls and sent Kraglin stumbling backwards. The momentum wasn't enough to lay him flat, but it was enough that he'd have an embarrassing bruise on his face from the console he'd smacked into.

"Shouldn'a done that, meat sack." Kraglin lunged as Peter levelled the ship out, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and wrenched him from his seat. "Cap'n don't take kindly to disrespect." He tossed Peter to the floor and loomed over him.

At fourteen, Peter was nearly as tall as Kraglin, and definitely as broad (both scrappy and lean), though Kraglin's years of hard work and even harder living had him at the advantage. For the time being. It was only a matter of time before Peter would outgrow him, and they both knew it. But for now, he was driven by the giddiness of power lust at having been appointed sole overseer of the kid's first true solo "acquisition."

" _Mission,_ " Kraglin spat and kicked Peter's boots. "This ain't one of your fancy hero picture books, _asshole,_ this is _thieving._ This is our life. _Your_ life."

"Well I didn't choose it, did I?" Peter stood and bumped Kraglin with his shoulder as he shoved his way to the pilot's seat.

"You think you're better'n me?" Kraglin grabbed him by the arm and shoved him hard out of the way. "Just because Yondu had pity on yer puny ass don't mean he cares about you. Just 'cause he lent you this bucket of bolts, you ain't special." He dropped into the seat, took the controls, and glared up at Peter. "You ain't done learnin' yet, boy." He dropped the ship out of the docking queue and cut haphazardly through the congested traffic.

"The Milano is _not_ a bucket of bolts. And she's mine, Yondu _said._ " Peter huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, not caring how young it made him appear. "The hell are you doing, anyway? I had a spot."

"Well, your spot was right out in the open marketplace." Kraglin narrowly navigated a turn, whistling a cheerful tune as he scraped the side of the ship along a stalled and rusted transport vessel. Peter grumbled and fought the urge to throw a punch. "People recognize Ravagers, moron. We don't fit in with those la-di-da dressin', pompous food eatin', fancy bathing folks…"

"Bathing? Bathing is _not..._ that's not a valid argument. Try it some time. You might like it." Peter slid into the navigator's seat and shoved his walkman and headphones into his backpack. "I know _I'd_ like it if you did."

"Do you ever shut up?" Kraglin pulled into another docking queue, this one surrounded by crumbling walls, dilapidated buildings, and businesses of every questionable nature. "No wonder Yondu wants to kill you 'n fry you up. You never learn your damn place."

"Where are we?" Peter leaned forward to get a better view of the filth and debauchery passing by.

"Purty ain't it? Reminds me of home."

"The other dock was closer to my pick-up site." The _"and safer"_ was implied. Frowning at a group of rough and broken down androids eyeing the Milano, Peter turned to Kraglin. "I'll still have a ship if we dock here, right? You'll watch her?"

"Pfff," Kraglin waved him off. "Ain't going with, if that's what yer asking. This is _your_ gig, kid. You'll get no interference from me." He eased the ship into the first free docking station, then let her drop onto the anchor with a jarring crash. The crowds milling around the dock turned and stared with no small degree of malice.

Peter groaned as he tugged on his ragged jacket, still too big after six years, and shoved the too long sleeves up his arms. The coat was maroon with a Ravagers patch he'd hand sewn on himself, identifying him with Yondu's faction, and was coarse wool because he hadn't yet earned the leather one. He slung his pack over one shoulder, and waited for Kraglin to lower the hatch for him.

"Good luck, Quill. Yer gonna need it." Kraglin laughed.

"Dummy says what?" Peter mumbled as he started down the ramp.

"What? _What_ did you say, boy?"

Without looking back, Peter flashed his middle finger over his shoulder at Kraglin in a mock salute, and disappeared down the nearest alley.

* * *

*A/N*

Peter Quill was eight years old in 1988 when he was abducted from Earth by the Ravager Yondu, just after his mother's death. According to comic book lore, Yondu gave Peter an M-fighter, his ship The Milano (which he named after his TV crush, Alyssa Milano), when he was ten years old.


	2. Sunny Sakaar

*A/N*

I was trying really hard to make up a cool planet, when I realized Marvel already did that for me. Thanks Grandmaster.

ALSO, I discovered Peter does have an implanted language translator.

* * *

After two _almost_ muggings - the first resulted in Peter getting away with a busted lip and his assailant's sack of knock-off Xandarian tech, the second ending with Peter haggling for his freedom at the cost of a black eye and two (slightly less than) _genuine_ Xandarian communication bands with built in interpretation chips (the translations were crap, Peter had tested one against his own implanted device, but the thug threatening him didn't need to know that) - and a handful of aborted attempts because the would-be attackers recognized Yondu's colors, Peter made it out of the tenement quarter.

He scaled a crumbling joke of a wall and dropped down the other side and into another world entirely. As if he'd stepped out into the sun for the first time, Peter had to shield his eyes to acclimate. The marketplace was vibrant with color and rich, delicious smells. The volume and variety of dialects was overwhelming as Peter tried to take in the wanton party attitude that seemed to dictate the movement of the masses.

The crowds parted around him as they spotted the Ravager emblem on his jacket, and he grudgingly acknowledged Kraglin's experience in the matter of appearing too obvious. _"Still a dick,"_ he mumbled as he ducked behind a booth selling over-priced novelty items to tourists, grabbing what he hoped was a shirt as he went. He tied his jacket around his waist, shoved his own shirt into his backpack, and pulled on the too tight, horrendous shirt. It was bright blue featuring a grinning orange sunshine with _Sunny Sakaar_ printed in gold glitter.

"Gross," Peter pretended to gag as he stepped back out to the open, and immediately noticed not one person paid him any attention. Satisfied with his disguise, he picked up, and paid for, a small figurine of the same gaudy sunshine at the next booth over. While the vendor was busy with the transaction, Peter swiped a few packets of the tiny celebratory incendiary devices that seemed to be abundantly available at every single booth into his pocket. Nothing would ever be as satisfying as stealing his granddad's bic lighter and setting off the penny firecrackers his mom would give him when he was a kid back in Missouri. _On_ Missouri? In Missouri, on Earth? Not Earth, he was expected to call it Terra now… _Damn._

"Sorry," he sighed as the vendor handed him the wrapped figurine, eyeing him suspiciously. "Keep it together, Quill." Peter turned and bumped directly into someone, a girl, dressed all in black with a hood concealing most of her face.

"Idiot child!" The girl growled as she slammed her shoulder into him and shoved him away.

"Hey! What is your damage?" Catching himself on a display of novelty snow globes, sending the whole thing crashing, Peter ran after her and caught her by the arm.

"Do _not,_ " the girl spun out of his grip and with one smooth motion pressed a small blade just under his jaw, "touch me again. You will not live long enough to feel my blade." She kicked his feet out from under him, and disappeared into the crowd before he even hit the ground.

"Oh dear!" An overly enthusiastic man bent over him and helped Peter to his feet. He grinned and pointed to his own shirt, exactly like Peter's stolen one. "We match. Neat!"

"Uhm, yeah," Peter scanned the crowd for the girl, but she was nowhere in sight.

"You okay… Sorry, I didn't catch your name?" The cheerful man held out his hand.

"Uhm…"

"Bashful, huh? It's okay. Sakaar is great. You'll find something here to excite you. Everyone does." He reached into his pocket and Peter stepped back with a wary grimace, taking in the ID badge hanging from the novelty lanyard and the tacky, yet practical, green cargo style shorts. "It's about time for the tour to start," he pulled the holographic map projector from his pocket and grinned. "Won't you join us?" He leaned in, mock conspiratorially. "It'll be fun, I promise."

"Uh, yeah." Peter eyed the projector. Damn useful, that projector. "Awesome."

"Great!" The tour guide whistled and waved his arms. A small group of people gathered around. "Welcome to sunny Sakaar!" He took a few backwards steps, spun on his heel, and motioned for them to follow. " _Aaaand,_ we're walking. We're walking."


	3. Thieving 101

*A/N*

CONTENT NOTE: In this story, Peter is fourteen. In this chapter, he's trying to steal the holographic map projector from the creepy tour guide. Sakaar, if you're not familiar with the MCU,, specifically Thor: Ragnarok, is a jacked up planet with a morally questionable leader, the Grandmaster, who encourages his people to partake in equally morally questionable behavior. As a means to an end, Peter flirts with the tour guide, and the flirting is reciprocated. But nothing comes of it.

Also, there's not a thing wrong with the name Devin.

* * *

The longer the tour group walked, the fewer obscure landmarks and monuments the overzealous guide pointed out, opting instead to point out popular, high-end establishments specializing in every vice or craving imaginable. He seemed to enjoy entertainment of the inhaled and injected variety, though he made frequent concession to those partaking in liquid pleasure.

Time seemed to slow to an excruciating pace as the excursion continued. Peter kept his eyes on the holographic map projector, and the tour guide by necessity. He managed to foil three pick-pocketing attempts by circling the parameter of the tour group and noticed each of the three thieves acknowledged and seemed to defer to the guide with a subtle signal.

He knew a con when he saw one. Hell, he'd run that particular con dozens of times. It was lowbrow and amateurish, but it was a solid segue to life as a Ravager. Thieving 101. He'd had to learn to use the resources at hand, including any distraction, no matter how flimsy, to his advantage.

Peter recognized the tour guide's drug-induced clumsy-giddy-stupor and saw an opportunity. The fact that despite his haze, the guide seemed to notice Peter noticing his interaction with the thieves was a problem, and Peter cringed as he made his decision.

Sliding up onto a stool, Peter let his shoulder bump the other man's arm. The guide cleared his throat, turned slowly to face him, and studied him with a glassy, appreciative, if somewhat dim, appraising look. He smiled a slow, dangerous sort of smile and held two fingers up to the barkeep.

"Jason." Peter frowned at the two shot glasses of steaming blue liquid with blood red granules lining the lip of each glass.

"Hmmm?" The guide winked at the bartender, then slid one drink to Peter.

"You- Uhm, you asked my name." Peter sniffed the drink recoiled back at the acrid scent. He cleared his throat and faked a smile. It was a damn good thing his mother, like most Earth mothers, had decided a good middle name was important. If he was about to do something stupid, he'd need an easy alias to remember. "Earlier. Before – back, in the…"

"Right! Yes, of course." The smile softened a bit, but the guide's eyes had gone dark and seemed sharper than should have been possible for the variety of substances Peter had watched him snort over the course of the afternoon. The guide tossed back his drink, suggestively licking some of the crimson granules off his lips and tipped his head toward Peter's drink. "Join me. Please. You've not tried any of the delicacies on our tour. I assure you, this is Sakaar's favorite cocktail."

"I'm not…" Peter stopped himself. He wasn't on Earth, he didn't know the rules. What he did know was that he had no intention of drinking that cocktail. He picked up the small glass and studied the red granules. A bit of the blue liquid sloshed over the edge. The granules turned green and burned a small spot on his hand.

"What do you have to lose, Jason?" The tour guide smiled and reached over to squeeze Peter's shoulder. "Do it. For me." He placed his other hand over his nametag. "Devin."

 _What the fuck kind of name was Devin?_ It was a split second thought, one he managed not to verbalize as he choked back a surprised laugh. Without wasting much thought, he capitalized on his own reaction, as well as _Devin's_ slightly hurt shock, and dropped his drink Devin's lap.

Devin cried out in surprise and then pain as he jumped from his stool.

"Shit, man. My bad." Peter reached across the bar for a stack of napkins, but Devin shoved him away.

"Don't," he grunted, shifting uncomfortably. "I need to… Go… I have to…"

Peter nodded and tried to look contrite. "I'll wait." He looked up through his eyelashes. "If you want me to."

"Hnngg." Devin adjusted his shorts and hissed. "Yes. _Yes._ " He glanced around. "Stay here. I just need to…"

"Go," Peter laughed. He watched Devin dodge through the mass of people, then turned to see the bartender busy with a group of women at the other end of the bar. With practiced ease, he slid the holographic map projector that Devin had abandoned on the bar into his backpack and slung the pack onto his shoulder.

Pressing the timer button to the count of eight on a few of the digital firecrackers, Peter dropped them into a shopping bag another tourist had absentmindedly left hanging on a chair next to him, and made a hasty retreat through the back storage room.

Only one figure, shrouded in a dark hood, tucked in a shadowed corner, watched him go. She waited for the chaos of the brightly colored explosions to follow him back out to the main thoroughfare.


End file.
